


The Strength of Softness

by PerfidiousFate



Category: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 02:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiousFate/pseuds/PerfidiousFate
Summary: Barnaby's parents break out of Azkaban. He has a choice.





	The Strength of Softness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XenomorphLiebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenomorphLiebe/gifts).



> This assignment was fun to write - thank you for the lovely prompts, and giving me the chance to write the game I've been obsessing over! And I just have to say that your PC sounds incredibly awesome. Happy Yuletide! <3

Barnaby didn’t pay much attention when Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.

He heard about it, of course. For a while, it was all everyone could talk about. Blah blah blah Sirius Black, blah blah blah implications for Azkaban security, blah blah blah current sociopolitical climate. Barnaby didn’t really get it. Besides, everyone he cared about was tough, so he knew they’d be fine, even if Merula and Max both got that fierce, Cursed Vault look in their eyes again whenever either of them mentioned it.

But Barnaby was still an apprentice then, learning all he could about Magizoology, and his mentor had trusted him with a clutch of newborn puffskeins, and that was important too. They deserved all his attention. So he didn’t pay much mind to Sirius Black, and ignored the way his thoughts would always skitter whenever the words ‘Death Eater’ was mentioned.

And then the prison break happened.

It wasn’t just one prisoner. It was - a lot. A lot of Death Eaters. Their pictures stared out at him from the Daily Prophet, eyes dark and full of promise, and Barnaby never understood the expression “my blood ran cold” until then. Beside him, his crow, Annie, crooned, but he didn’t hear her. His stomach was churning, his face was hot, and he couldn’t even finish the breakfast Paddie had prepared for him. 

His mum and dad stared out at him unapologetically along with all the other mass murderers who were now walking free, and Barnaby really, really hated feeling this weak.

* * *

His friends were very kind people, so Barnaby wasn’t at all surprised by the fleet of fire calls and visits, although he wasn’t necessarily happy about it. Despite the Ministry’s official stance, the whispers of ‘Dark Lord’ were growing louder and louder, turning into a storm, and Barnaby’s blood felt like a mark of shame, chains binding him to a legacy he didn’t want. He started dreaming about the Dark Lord again, the same dreams he had as a kid, but this time he wasn’t a child and the Dark Lord was disinclined to show mercy. So Barnaby wasn’t in the best of moods.

But he could appreciate his friends trying to help. Ben, who was so terrified of You-Know-Who that Barnaby thought him liable to go into hiding at any second, came out and had tea with him, all the while stuttering his condolences. Penny dragged him out to dinner and asked him if he was okay, eyes wide and blue, and was sympathetic throughout. Rowan…Barnaby didn’t really get everything he said, he spoke quickly and passionately, but it was very kind and smart nonetheless. Tonks swore to him that she’d let him know if she heard anything from the Auror end, rules be damned. 

Neither Bill nor Charlie came to visit, though they both sent short letters expressing concern to Barnaby. In fact they’d both suddenly gotten quiet - none of their friends got more than quick messages from them. 

Barnaby did have two favorite visits post-the news of his world suddenly getting a lot grimmer. Merula came over with fire in her eyes, Firewhiskey in her bag, and Isabel dragged along. They got drunk and talked, though Merula, as always, did most of it. Barnaby appreciated her bitter anger, the palpable hurt. He felt the same way, and it was nice to share the feeling with someone who understood, not just the soft, kind concern of people who hadn’t grown up into the gentle epiphany that their parents were bad people. Although Isabel, face shadowed, offered to track their parents down and kill them, and Barnaby felt a stab of panic all the same. Even if they were bad. Even if they were terrible. Even if he could hear his father’s voice whenever he messed up, whenever he was weak or soft. They were still his parents.

He was saved from replying, though, since the Ministry chose that moment to raid his home. Again. Barnaby might not have been the smartest, but even he wouldn’t have searched the place six times over if you kept turning up nothing. Besides, it might have been his family home, but what were the chances his parents would come back there? Still, he got to watch a drunk Merula Snyde scold the officials and generally make a nuisance of himself, so the night turned out fine in the end.

His favorite visit from Max. His favorite visits were always from Max, ever since they became friends. It was hard to believe that they weren’t friends at first, that they slept in the same dorm but barely talked for years. 

“Jacob says the last war had a resistance force,” Max told him. It was cute how many of his sentences started with ‘Jacob says’. Barnaby supposed it was his way of making up for years of his brother’s absence. As someone with parents he hadn’t seen in years, he could relate. "Maybe there's a spot for us there. Merula's already been hitting up all her contacts." 

"A resistance force?"

"Against You-Know-Who." Max was good at stating the obvious in a way that didn't make it seem like he was laughing at you. Merula always sounded like she was laughing at you when she said anything, even when she wasn't. Barnaby never felt dumb with Max. "Interested?"

"Umm..." 

The silent stretched around them.

It wasn't that he was for You-Know-Who. Of course he wasn't. Barnaby still saw him in his nightmares, sometimes. It wasn't that he really liked his parents either. They were - cruel. His childhood was a struggle. His dad kept yelling at him, and yelling at him, and yelling at him. Barnaby didn't even know it was possible to go over a week without crying before his parents were arrested.

But there was still...

His mother taught him how to read, and she always smelled of persimmons and rose petals. He'd sit in her lap, and she'd hug him as they flipped the pages of a book together, and the world went from squiggles to words with her warmth around him. His father had a severe look in his eyes and always told Barnaby he wasn't strong enough, but he'd made him stronger, too. They played Quiddith together. He'd taught him the duelling stances. And when Barnaby had first successfully pulled off a mock-duel, his father had smiled at him and ruffled his hair. His hand was warm against him.

His parents were cruel. Jerks. His life was full of joy and laughter and friends now.

But he still  _loved_ them. He couldn't help it.

* * *

 

After his parents were arrested, Barnaby was raised by his uncle and his parent’s house elf.

Honestly, it was mostly Paddie. His uncle was a very important werewolf hunter and spent his days traveling. Barnaby rarely got to see him. It was Paddie who woke him up and made him food and tutored him, not that she knew a lot of things a wizard should know. Not that Barnaby really paid attention either. 

“Barnaby, my boy,” his uncle would say, resting his hand on Barnaby’s head. It was warm and solid. “You’re the brightest the Lee family ever produced! You’ll go on to do great things, mark my words! Maybe you’ll be a very important werewolf capture specialist like I am. You’ll have to work hard!”

His uncle’s occasional head pats. Paddie’s hugs. For five years, that was the only contact Barnaby had.

Then Max came along. And Max was smart, determined and brave. Most importantly, he was really really strong. Most most importantly, he would smile at Barnaby. He would pat Barnaby on the shoulders, then grab his arm, then sling an arm around Barnaby’s shoulders. Max was the only person besides his uncle and Paddie who touched Barnaby for about five years.

And that…that meant something. Right? Barnaby wasn’t just making things up, right? His dad always used to yell at him for that, for having his head in the clouds. Barnaby cried when his dad was exterminating pixies, and his dad never forgave him. 

* * *

Max ruffled his hair once too. It was after they'd cracked the Cursed Vaults. Max had had a tearful reunion with Jacob, and he was smiling, smiling, smiling. He'd gone around to all of them and hugged them - even Merula, who squawked, and Isabela who looked like she'd turned to stone at the spot. He'd come up to Barnaby too and had swung himself into him, laughing.  
  
"Thank you for all your help," he said. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"I didn't do much," Barnaby protested, but he couldn't help but blush. "I'm not smart like Rowan or cunning like Merula. I'm just good at creatures. I wasn't important at all."

Max had furrowed his eyebrows, but then laughed again. "Never doubt," he'd said, "That you are important. To me at least." And then he'd reached up and ruffled Barnaby's hair, and it was like his father's approval but it didn't - it didn't hurt. It wasn't like a breath of air before going back to drowning, or like lava coming apart in your veins. 

It was just soft. Like a puffskein's fur.

* * *

 

"Barnaby?"

Max's voice was gentle. Barnaby shook himself back to reality.

"Huh?"

"You okay?" His eyes were warm too. "I did say...that if we came across your parents, you know we wouldn't hurt them, right? We wouldn't do that to you."

(“You’re weak!” his father had snarled, just the other day. “Weak little child, always crying for the sake of lesser creatures than yourself. You are the scion of the Lee family, and you serve when you should rule. Enough is enough, Barnaby.” His voice softened. “Come join us, son. Seize your destiny.”)

"I know." Barnaby tried to smile. "I know. You're...stronger than that."

Because fighting was being strong. So were duels, and spells, and bloodlines.

But puffskeins were important. And so were friends. And Barnaby's fingers itched, and he hadn't cried in at least a year, and even though he still felt weak and useless, he knew he was strong. Stronger than his father, who bowed to a tyrant. Stronger than his mother, who let her blood control her.

Because Barnaby only ever listened to himself.

"Sure. I'll join."

And Max's smile was like a puffskein's.


End file.
